“How long have you been here?” she asked. “At the ball, I mean.”
“Since half ten.”
“I didn’t see you. Were you in the cardroom?”
He looked at her, something inexplicable in his eyes. “I was with Miss Throckmorton.”
Julia had suspected it already. Indeed, she had nothing to reproach him with. She’d told him they didn’t suit. Had asked him to stop pursuing her. Nevertheless . . .
His admission hit her like a blow.
Only last night she’d confessed that she wished to know him better. And he’d promised her she would.
What had changed his mind?
Was it something she’d said during their ride this morning? Some foolish remark or awkward gesture?
Or was it merely that Miss Throckmorton’s dowry was greater than her own?
Julia wasn’t aware of the exact amount the wealthy toffee heiress was worth, but it must be substantial to tempt Captain Blunt. He’d made no secret that money was his primary concern.
“I thought you might be,” she said, forcing a smile. In moments such as these, a lady had little left but her dignity. She was resolved to hold fast to it. “I like her. She’s far more suitable for you than I ever was.”
“Miss Wychwood.” Captain Blunt’s voice deepened. “My admiration for you—”
She inwardly winced. “Please don’t. You needn’t. I’m not sad or disappointed. I’m happy, you see. It’s enough for me to have become your friend, and to know you’ve changed your life for the better. How could I ever be sad knowing that?”
“I hope we are friends,” he said.
Her smile wavered. She didn’t know how much longer she could sustain it. “Yes. We are.” She rose from the bench. The urge to escape swelled within her. “Thank you again for coming to my aid.”
He stood, frowning at her, as if he had something else he wished to say. Some kind remark, no doubt, meant to soothe her injured pride.
She wanted to flee and save herself the humiliation. But she couldn’t run. She was frozen to the spot, waiting for him to speak.
“I’m sorry about Gresham,” he said at last. “And I’m sorry you had to see me like that, looking fierce, as you said. I—” He broke off, only to continue gruffly, “I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”
“I’m not afraid of you. Not anymore.” She wasn’t. Quite the opposite. “As for how fierce you looked . . . I suppose it was in a worthy cause.”
He gazed down at her. “The worthiest.”
Heat rose in her cheeks. She was keenly aware of their surroundings. The two of them, standing alone in the clearing, under a moonlit sky. Not even in her dreams could she have conjured a more romantic setting.
“No one’s ever defended my honor before,” she confessed.
“No? When I arrived, you were doing an excellent job of defending it yourself.” He smiled slightly. “It didn’t seem fair that I should knock the man down when you’d already injured him.”
Her brows notched. “I hope I didn’t hurt him too badly. He was only trying to steal a kiss.”
“Only.” Banked flames smoldered in Captain Blunt’s eyes. “You must have objected to the liberty to have responded as you did.”
“I didn’t object to the liberty. I objected to the man.” She explained, a little self-consciously, “A first kiss is important. It’s something a girl remembers forever. I’d rather mine not be with Lord Gresham.”
Captain Blunt looked at her, silently, steadily. There was an endless pause. And then: “Have you someone else in mind?”
Butterflies fanned their wings in her stomach, fluttering up to her breast, making her heart quiver with romantic expectation.
Unreasonable expectation.
Was he thinking what she was thinking? But he must be to look at her so. He must be.
He took a half step toward her. Her silk skirts swirled about his legs. “Do you?” he asked.
“It wouldn’t be fair,” she said. “Y-you belong to Miss Throckmorton.”
He came closer still. His head bent to hers, his voice a rough scrape of sound. “I belong to no one.”
She swallowed hard. “Nor do I. Not yet.”
“Well then.” He brushed his knuckles along the edge of her jaw. The gentle caress sent a tremor of longing through her frame. “Would you like me to be your first?”
She drifted into his touch, swaying toward him almost against her will. Her body’s answer was plain enough. Yes, yes, it seemed to sing, reaching out to him with every nerve and sinew.
But it was her mind that was in control.
For now, anyway.
She moistened her lips. The unconscious action riveted the entirety of Captain Blunt’s formidable attention. “Yes.” She admitted it both to him and to herself. “Yes. But you needn’t feel obliged—”
His mouth captured hers, swallowing what was left of her words.
Julia gave a muffled moan—part pleasure and part surprise.
Oh, heavens.
His lips were as sensual as she’d imagined. They molded to her own, strong and searching, coaxing a response from her.
She yielded to the tantalizing pressure.
It was more than a first kiss. It was an acknowledgment. A physical validation of their unspoken attraction to each other. Something raw and honest and imbued with an undercurrent of soul-quaking passion.
He wasn’t particularly suave or seductive about the business. On the contrary, there was a certain masculine ruthlessness to his kiss. It spoke of the soldier he’d been. A man used to taking what he wanted. To prevailing against all odds.
Had he wished to, he could have easily overpowered her.
He didn’t.
She was nonetheless overwhelmed by him. A prisoner to sensation; the ridged scar on his lip, the heat of his body, and the curve of his gloved palm cradling her face.
Knees trembling, she lifted her hand to clutch weakly at the lapel of his black evening coat. Her touch seemed to bring him back to his senses.
He broke the kiss, his chest expanding once, twice, as if—like her—he had difficulty getting enough air into his lungs. “There,” he rasped, bringing his forehead to rest gently against hers. “Is that a first kiss worthy of remembering?”
Julia inhaled a tremulous breath, taking in the delirious scent of him—bergamot shaving soap, clean linen, and the spice of warm male skin. Her own body was hot all over, her face awash with blushes. Good Lord. Captain Blunt had kissed her! Their first kiss.